


Pretty Kitty Blue Eyes

by james



Series: Cats and Witchers, Oh My [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Fade to Black, Humor, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Panic Attack, Werecats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24936886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: Some slices of life from Kear Morhen.  Technically this should be set before the previous story, but eh. WTF timelines.  This fandom doesn't need coherent timelines.TRIGGER WARNING: There is a scene at the beginning that has what appears to be domestic violence. IT IS NOT.  However, if depictions of such bother you, please be cautioned.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Cats and Witchers, Oh My [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771585
Comments: 34
Kudos: 477





	Pretty Kitty Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Cats have limited object permanence. This means they don't understand that the room with two doors is the same room behind each door. It can also mean that closing a door, or leaving the room, can be very confusing for the poor dumbskulls. (Is this foreshadowing? WHO CAN TELL.)

Spring was coming; everyone in the keep could tell, even those who couldn't smell the changes in the wind. The nights were still cold enough that Jaskier planted himself firmly in between Eskel and Geralt and stayed there. (They were absolutely taking Eskel with them when they left, no matter what Geralt or Eskel had to say about it. He was required to travel with them until at least a week before Midsummer, which was the earliest Jaskier could contemplate not needing a double sided, Witcher Heated blanket.)

No one had left yet, though Lambert and Mordain were both making noises like they'd be gone soon. Auckes would probably go when Mordain did, Geralt said, not because he particularly liked to travel with the Cat Witcher, but because there was a bet left unpaid. Geralt had mentioned the lake at the base of the mountain and Eskel had laughed, and Jaskier didn't think dunking someone in a lake was appropriate behavior, honestly, what was up with Witchers thinking it was?

Jaskier didn't mind water; hot baths were glorious, and a swim in a cool – monster-free – pond could be a lovely way to pass a summer day. But being picked up and dumped in cold lake water, with all manner of dead things getting stuck in one's hair and who knew what things swimming past – Jaskier hadn't forgotten about Geralt carrying him into that lake and he planned on carving it into his gravestone. _Here lies Jaskier the Greatest Bard of the Continent, who was woefully and ill-deservedly dumped into a lake one time by the White Wolf née Geralt of Rivia, someone please go punch him for me._

It would have to be a full-sized plaque, which meant he'd have to be buried in a mausoleum – which suited him just fine, everything could be gilt with gold and sparkly. Jaskier didn't care that chances were he would outlive Geralt, if only by a handful of years. More, if he kept yelling like this when Jaskier was trying to compose.

He looked up as Geralt stormed in, looking around the room wildly before spying Jaskier and storming over. Jaskier just raised an eyebrow at him, not getting up from where he was slouched sideways across the chair, notebook balanced in his lap. His lute was set aside as he pondered lyrics. The line he'd been messing with felt like it might need to go into a poem, which meant he needed something else for the song.

“You!” Geralt yelled as he grabbed a hold of Jaskier's shirt and lifted him up, holding him practically dangling, his toes barely on the floor.

Jaskier gave him his very most innocent expression – since he had no idea what could have set Geralt off (today), he didn't feel guilty about claiming his innocence.

Geralt's face was inches from his own, and his lover's eyes were wide with anger, nostrils flaring like he was about to start tearing things apart. Jaskier tried to think if he'd done anything yesterday? Day before?

The hairball he was pretty sure he'd got into Eskel's pants, so it probably wasn't that. 

Geralt was baring his teeth and Jaskier felt his own lips pull back, baring his own fangs a little, just in case he had to yell back.

“Sing something,” Geralt ground out.

Jaskier blinked. “Um, what?”

“ _Sing something._ Anything. Except that _fucking_ coin--”

Jaskier bit down on his lips quickly before he laughed out loud in his beloved's face. He schooled his expression back into something that looked a bit like innocence, and asked, “Coin song?” He hummed a bit as though _just checking if that's the one you mean, Dear?_ He'd been singing it to himself that morning as Geralt and Eskel were leaving for early morning sparring, or whatever they called it – wrestling in the snow and slush and mud until someone yelled that breakfast was ready.

Geralt growled, as dangerously as he ever did when hunting monsters.

Jaskier smiled, _almost_ sympathetically. “Stuck in your head just a bit?”

“All fucking morning,” Geralt said, still holding him up in the air, still glaring and snarling at him from an inch away, looking like he would willingly rip Jaskier limb from limb, except for how of course he wouldn't, but he would absolutely refuse to heat up Jaskier's bath later, and tell Eskel to go to his own room and leave the entire left half of the bed cold. Or at least he'd grumble and yell and growl at him just to make sure Jaskier knew he meant it.

Jaskier waved happily at Eskel, who had just come into the room. “He was humming it when he was sparring with Lambert,” Eskel said, grinning. 

“Which I will never live down,” Geralt admitted, still snarling, still holding Jaskier up by his shirt. Jaskier twisted a bit on his toes, swinging back and forth. “Sing something, anything else but that fucking song, I am literally begging you.”

Jaskier grinned and opened his mouth.

“No, fuck, not anything--” Geralt began.

“ _How is it that nobody knew, certain Witchers smell like poo._ ” Jaskier began.

There was a sharp bark of laughter from Eskel. “What the fuck?”

Jaskier found himself being hauled up, onto and over Geralt's shoulder. As if he couldn't sing like this? Geralt turned so Jaskier was facing away from Eskel – his face was, anyway – and said, “Ignore him.”

 _”Witchers smell like monster poo, do you want to know why they do, Monster Poo, Monster Poo,”_ Jaskier continued. The cadence was very simplistic, very easy for young children to learn -- exactly the sort of thing they would sing over and over a thousand times. If Jaskier ever sang it for them.

“Why the FUCK have you never sung us this?” Eskel demanded. “We've been stuck here all fucking winter and you didn't sing us this?”

Jaskier couldn't tell which of them Geralt was threatening, with the deep growl and some sort of hand gesture, Jaskier could feel Geralt moving but of course couldn't see anything.

“How many verses are there?” Eskel asked, sounding delighted. Geralt snarled at him.

“Twelve!” Jaskier called out, cheerfully. “And every line rhymes because Geralt insisted!”

“Geralt helped write it?” Eskel asked, extremely doubtfully.

“No!” Geralt snapped.

“Yes!” Jaskier said, even though of course technically he hadn't. “He inspired it and decreed that it should rhyme and he annoyed me often enough that I was able to add five extra verses.”

There was a deep, heartfelt sigh, and Jaskier found himself being set down onto his feet. Geralt looked at him, looking sort of sorry, a little bit, but mostly just resigned to his fate.

“Why in the world haven't you sung it for us? Lambert would fucking love it.” Eskel grinned, resting an elbow on Geralt's shoulder and ignored the growl Geralt gave him.

Jaskier opened his mouth, stopped, then sighed. It was too late, anyway – he'd done it to himself. “It gets stuck in my head even worse than _Toss a Coin,_ ” he admitted.

“Now you have to sing something for both of us,” Geralt said, and somehow he managed to sound both threatening and resigned all at the same time.

“Or! We could do something else,” Jaskier suggested. He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. “I usually stop singing in my head when I have sex. Sometimes. Mostly.”

Eskel wrinkled his nose. “How are you the one who supposedly seduced people all over the Continent, again?”

“I don't use my best lines for Geralt,” Jaskier told him, noticing that Geralt was still clinging to Jaskier's shirt. He'd let him down enough to stand properly, at least. Jaskier gave Geralt a kiss on the cheek. 

Geralt laughed, then said to Eskel, “Best lines – usually he just asks, do you want to, and they either say yes or no.”

“It works, doesn't it?” Jaskier didn't even bother feigning offense. Why mess with something that worked? He flattered and sang and wrote poetry enough while he was working, if someone wanted romance they could attend one of his performances.

Geralt just hmmed at him. 

Jaskier tilted his head, baring a bit of his neck, and the way Geralt was holding his shirt made it easy to see a good way down his chest. In his very best bedroom voice, he asked, “Do you want to?”

In a very similar tone, Geralt asked, “Do you want to miss lunch?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Jaskier said, and twisted his way free of Geralt's grip. He managed halfway then got stuck, so he shifted forms and scrambled out of his clothes and ran for the door.

“Vesemir won't feed you if you're naked!” Geralt called after him.

Jaskier paused – he could eat just fine in cat form, but Geralt still wouldn't let him drink alcohol. So rude. Before he could decide what he wanted, Eskel picked him up.

“You'll spoil him,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could actually feel the sardonic eyebrow that Eskel must be giving to Geralt. 

“Me-eor!” Jaskier told him, because if he was being carried, he was being carried _to lunch._ He settled himself in Eskel's hold and considered if he had to claw the man to get him moving in the right direction. Luckily Eskel started moving, so he didn't have to. He did hear what sounded like Geralt gathering up his clothes, behind them.

Then he heard Eskel start to hum _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,_ and Geralt snarled, loudly. Jaskier looked up just in time to see his clothes hit Eskel in the head. He climbed onto Eskel's shoulder and yelled at Geralt: rude, so very rude, and then Geralt was taking him out of Eskel's arms and holding him – and shoving Eskel into the nearest wall.

Maybe he should take himself to lunch. Jaskier jumped down, and headed for the dining hall at a sprint.

~ ~ ~

Later that evening everyone had enjoyed a very relaxing, inspiring, and entertaining concert from The Continent's Greatest Bard – completely avoiding two particular songs, because Jaskier had had a wonderful supper and two lovely, large tankards of ale and Geralt was smiling at him like _that_ – the way that said he was as utterly besotted as a man could be, which made Jaskier feel a bit besotted himself. He ignored the amused heckling and sang just as many love songs as he liked, but also sang a few others as well. By the time it was late and his throat was dry, everyone was humming and clapping and smiling as they shuffled off to their respective beds.

Eskel vanished to his own rooms while Geralt half-herded and half-carried Jaskier to his. Theirs? Jaskier supposed it was theirs, now, though neither of them had ever come out and said so.

Jaskier had no intention of letting Geralt wander off too far, at any rate, and Jaskier had tried once to see how far he could wander from Geralt and it wasn't much farther than he could get in half an hour, regardless of the form he was in.

He'd gone to a market one morning just to browse, and he'd barely got past the first stall when Geralt had appeared at his side, looking wide awake for someone who'd been left sleeping soundly in bed. He hadn't been upset, just joined Jaskier in looking stalls over, making hmm noises whenever Jaskier asked his opinion on stuff they did or did not need.

Geralt had taken his hand, though, which might have been a show of affection – or could have been because Jaskier very easily got distracted by every shiny thing he saw. Was it his fault he wandered off every time Geralt's head was turned? No, it was not. Jaskier was fairly sure. But it was nice when Geralt held his hand, like they were something a bit more than lovers, friends, and companions.

Jaskier felt like what was theirs was _theirs_ and he wondered if one of them needed to say so out loud. He didn't feel like starting that sort of conversation now, though, not when Geralt was smiling softly at him and nudging him gently into the room and kissing him slowly even before he closed the door. He left it very slightly ajar, a habit Jaskier appreciated – it was so much easier to come and go without having to switch forms just to have hands. 

Even if it meant that certain other residents of the keep complained in the morning about keeping the noise down ( _the fucking noise,_ Lambert liked to say, then he'd snicker at his own joke.) Jaskier didn't care much about any of them at the moment, content to let Geralt kiss him, then to let himself be picked up, legs around Geralt's waist as he was carried over to the bed.

When Geralt tried to drop him onto the bed, Jaskier continued clinging to him. Geralt narrowed his eyes and Jaskier grinned. Geralt got his hands on Jaskier's hips and pushed, then lifted, and Jaskier moved his grip, shimmying up and down to remain in place despite Geralt's efforts to toss him onto the bed. 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “How do you expect either of us to get undressed, much less do anything else you're usually very eager for?”

“I am eager!” Jaskier protested, as if he weren't the one delaying things. “I am very eager!” He gave Geralt a pout. “I just don't want to let go.”

“Hmm.” Geralt considered him, gave his butt a slight nudge, but Jaskier didn't move. Geralt turned a bit and took a step sideways – then let himself fall right onto the bed.

Right onto _Jaskier_.

“Hmph!” Jaskier tried to wriggle, but Geralt was heavy, and weighing him down on purpose. “Urg! Breathing, help....” Jaskier tried to get his arms free, tried to do anything that would get himself out from under Geralt, but the big lunk just lay there, on top of him, and didn't move.

Jaskier gasped, dramatically. “Dying...”

Geralt didn't move. Jaskier waited, lay still for a moment, then poked him in the arm.

“Mmm?”

“Did you know Witchers are FAT and HEAVY,” he sang to the tune of the Monster Poo Song.

With a sudden laugh, Geralt raised his head then pushed himself to the side. Jaskier inhaled deeply, though he hadn't actually been in any distress – the bed was soft beneath him and he hadn't been squashed so much as held really well down. He loved when Geralt played with him, in all ways, and it hadn't been very many months ago that his lover had relaxed enough to actually do so.

Jaskier wanted to encourage him, but also, he liked not being squashed.

Mostly. Squashed _between_ two Witchers was fine, because he wasn't being flattened at the same time. 

Geralt leaned in and kissed him again. Jaskier let him, then scrambled quickly to get on top when Geralt made as if to roll closer and back onto him. Jaskier got his hands and feet down onto the bed, not very effectively caging Geralt in. Geralt just lay there and smiled up at him.

“Now you've caught me, what are you going to do with me?” he asked.

“I suppose....” Jaskier pretended to think about it. “I don't think I could fit you in Eskel's boot.”

He'd left a one-headed, three-tailed mouse in Eskel's boot the other night, and he was pretty sure it was meant as a gift. Sometimes things got a bit fuzzy when he was in cat form, especially when he was so comfortable being in his other form. He'd been a cat so much here in Kaer Morhen that sometimes it felt like being human was the odd one. Really, they were both natural for him, but before he'd traveled with Geralt he had only felt safe being in his cat form for short periods, and only when he had a safe place to stash his things.

He thought he might say something about it, how much being with Geralt had changed things for him – not just the whole falling in love bit, that they hadn't really talked about yet, but also everything else. People didn't like shifters any more than they liked Witchers, but Jaskier could hide what he was easily enough, though it meant going days or weeks without changing forms.

He opened his mouth to say – something, for once he wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. Thank you, love you, kiss me again. Jaskier had no idea, so he shut his mouth and waited for Geralt to tease him.

But Geralt just smiled and put his hands on Jaskier's back, urging him to come closer. Jaskier did, happily, and it turned out that neither of them had much to say for the rest of the evening.

~ ~ ~

It was the middle of the night and the bed was warm, but not as warm as it could have been and Jaskier wanted something to eat. Leaving his warm spot wasn't enticing, but his stomach was telling him to find something to fill it. Despite not wanting to move from his spot, it didn't take long for his stomach to win. 

He stood up from where he'd been curled up on Geralt's chest, stretched as long as he could, then leapt to the floor. The door was slightly open, and Jaskier scampered out of the room and down the stairs. The moonlight was plenty of light for him to see by and regardless he knew every stone of the stairs and floor. 

Jaskier paused every few feet and looked around. There were so many interesting things to smell through the entire place, even at the cracks of the doors that remained firmly shut against him. He'd yowled and scratched at one of them, only to be scruffed and held up, feet dangling in midair. Vesemir, telling him that storehouses full of food were – somehow – not meant for cats.

 _That_ made no sense. How could a room full of food be _not_ for cats? The kitchen was full of food and somehow _that_ was okay. Except for the oven, which he'd been knocked down from often enough that he was pretty sure he'd remember not to jump onto it again.

The way to the kitchen was easy, Jaskier had made the journey many times at all hours of the day and night. No one would be there now, he didn't think, but he knew where the jars were with cheese and there might be some smoked meat in a bowl for him to find.

He ran into the dining hall and paused again, peeking under the table and benches. No mice, no monsters, nothing but the shadows cast by the light of the moon streaming in from the upper windows. The fireplace was glowing only at the very bottom, coals that might be dead by morning. Witchers who used cantrips to light fires didn't care about keeping logs burning through the night, despite the chill.

Jaskier made his way around the long table where they all ate, and headed for the kitchen.

And stopped.

There was a closed door where the kitchen should be.

Jaskier froze. After a moment he crouched down, looking from side to side, frantically. There was nothing. There was no kitchen. Just a wall, a closed door, and no kitchen.

He tried to think. Was there another dining hall? Was he in the wrong room? He couldn't remember if there had been. The keep was filled with corridors and rooms and doors he wasn't allowed to open, places he couldn't go and places that went outside where there was snow and wet and he'd tried it once and did not care for it at all.

But he'd come into this room, thinking it was the right one, and... it wasn't.

Should he try going back out? Try again? He couldn't. He couldn't go try somewhere else, couldn't go look for the right dining hall. He'd thought this was right and it wasn't, which meant he wouldn't be able to find the right one and oh gods what if he left this room and couldn't find Geralt.

Oh gods, was _Geralt_ gone too?

He howled, clamped his mouth closed because what if there were monsters, then meowed again, softly. 

_Geralt._

He looked around again, and everything looked right and wrong and he wanted to go hide under the table but there was too much room underneath to hide properly. The table was out in the open, so climbing on top wouldn't work either.

 _"MEOW,"_ he cried again, louder, and he meowed again when Geralt didn't answer and didn't understand where he was, how was he lost and where was Geralt and why was he all alone in a place he didn't recognise.

“Me-o-o-ow,” he called, and surely Geralt would hear him, come rescue him. He'd just been here, or Jaskier had been there, they'd been together right before Jaskier left and _where was he._

Maybe he was gone, like the kitchen.

Jaskier howled softly.

A moment later footsteps pounded, then people were rushing into the room. Jaskier didn't move because the table wasn't close enough to get under then he was surrounded and Geralt was right in front of him, picking him up.

Someone was near the fireplace, and a moment later it whooshed to life, filling the room with light.

“Is he hurt?” someone asked.

“What's wrong?” someone else, and Jaskier knew their voices and would have relaxed except for how he still wasn't sure it was safe.

He smelled Geralt, felt himself being pressed to Geralt's bare chest, hands running down his body and Geralt was whispering to him.

“Is he hurt?” That was Eskel, now crouching down at Jaskier's level.

“I don't feel anything,” Geralt replied.

“There's no blood,” Eskel said, and Jaskier looked around to see Vesemir, Lambert, Auckes and Mordain all gathered around. Each of them was holding a sword or ax; Mordain had two daggers.

Jaskier shifted and pressed his face against Geralt's neck and breathed in. Another deep breath to calm himself and.. oh. Oh. 

Fuck.

He hid his face in Geralt's neck and didn't look at any of them.

“Jaskier, what happened?” Geralt asked, gently. 

“It's.. I'm sorry, it's...so stupid,” Jaskier whispered. Well, not like they couldn't all hear him just fine anyway. He took another deep breath and forced himself to look up. “I'm sorry for making everyone run down here. I... I've been in cat form so much, I... it kind of takes over after awhile.” He raised his hand, gestured at his head. “Instinct sort of takes over and... the thinking kind of stops.”

“But what _happened?”_ Eskel asked. “We heard you yelling; I thought you'd gotten trapped somewhere, or injured.”

Jaskier couldn't meet his eyes, but forced himself to say, “The door was closed, and I didn't know where I was.”

There was no reply from any of them for a moment, then, “The door?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier waved his hand towards the kitchen door, which he recognised perfectly well, now, as the door to the kitchen. “I didn't recognise it, I started thinking I was in the wrong place, and that I didn't know where I was – or where you were. I thought if I couldn't find the kitchen then maybe I couldn't even find my way back to your room and... I panicked.”

He waited for the laughter, or disbelief – anger that he'd dragged them all out of their beds in the middle of the night for something so ridiculous.

Geralt kissed the top of his head. Eskel gripped his arm, and Jaskier heard someone walking away. He looked up to see Vesemir going to the kitchen door and opening it. He propped it open like it had been the entire time Jaskier had been there, then turned back to them. “If there's no danger, then I'm headed back to my bed,” he said, and he didn't sound annoyed or angry, didn't even have that tone in his voice that made all the Witchers jump.

He walked out, and Auckes and Lambert both gave Jaskier a nod and followed him out. Jaskier's jaw dropped. Mordain crouched down and gave him a smile. “I fucking hate doors, myself,” he said, which didn't even make sense, but he was smiling and not angry and then he just left and Jaskier looked at Geralt.

“I'm sorry,” he tried again, because maybe they were all leaving it to Geralt to sigh at him for being so incredibly annoying.

Geralt kissed him, which went a long way towards making him feel better, but no less confused. 

“No one's angry,” Eskel was the one to say. “We're relieved you're not hurt, or – well you sounded pretty well traumatised, I'm glad it was easy to fix.”

“You don't think it's stupid?” Jaskier asked, still not sure he believed it. “It was a fucking closed door.”

Geralt nudged him with his nose, and Jaskier turned to him, let himself be kissed again. “We could tell,” he said, then stopped, his eyes going dark for a moment. “That you were in real distress. Whatever it was – you weren't faking, playing a joke on us. You were scared. It doesn't matter the reason.”

Jaskier felt like he ought to have something to say – a bard should never be caught without words, but here he was, speechless. 

Eskel ran his hand down Jaskier's arm, and stood. “Did you want me to come back with you?”

“I... yes? No? Yes,” Jaskier decided, because in-between them really was so much nicer, and maybe between the three of them, someone would be able to explain this so Jaskier could understand.

Geralt stood, picking him up in a very by-now familiar hold. He'd been carried around more in the past few months than he could remember ever being, once he'd grown too large for his mother to tote.

Eskel went to kick out the fire as Geralt carried him out of the dining hall. Jaskier let his head fall against Geralt's shoulder. He could get used to this.

“I suppose maybe I ought to spend more time like this,” he allowed, as Geralt and Eskel took him back up the now-obvious way to Geralt's room.

“Only if you want to,” Geralt said. “We meant it; no one's angry.”

“And if the same thing happens tomorrow night?” Jaskier asked, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

“Kitchen door won't be closed,” Eskel said. “And if it is, blame'll be on whoever shut it.”

He stared over his shoulder at Eskel. Eskel just watched him, calmly.

“This really doesn't bother any of you?” Jaskier looked at him, back to Geralt. “That I do stupid shit because I'm part cat?”

Neither of them answered right away, but then Geralt sighed. “Does it really surprise you that we understand? You do stupid shit because of who you are. What you are. You can't change that. We get it.”

“And if we blamed you for it, we'd be assholes,” Eskel said, cheerfully. “Besides, I'd rather fucking come running down here in the middle of the night and find out nothing's really wrong than find you with your guts scattered across the floor because a coyote or snake got into the keep.”

Geralt tensed as Eskel spoke, and Jaskier put his head back on Geralt's chest, letting himself be warm and safe and perfectly unharmed, right there in front of him. As they got back to Geralt's room, Eskel stepped in first, using Igni to light a candle. None of them really needed it, but Jaskier noticed that all of them glanced around, checking corners and crannies for anything unexpected.

Jaskier tried to think of how to apologise for what Geralt must have been thinking when he'd heard Jaskier crying for him, but again words didn't seem to come. When Geralt looked down at him, Jaskier gave him a kiss – it had worked well enough so far, and as Geralt relaxed it did the trick again.

“Come on,” Eskel said quietly, as he climbed into the bed. Geralt carried Jaskier over and laid him down next to Eskel, then climbed in as well. They shifted easily, arms and legs fitting into familiar spots, and Jaskier settled in, right where he wanted to be.

They really were going to have to make Eskel travel with them. Jaskier smiled to himself as he felt both Witchers relaxing and the bed grew warm.

His stomach growled.

“I'm still hungry,” he said, eyes popping open. The kitchen door was no longer shut, right? So there wouldn't be a problem.

“Too bad,” Geralt growled, and Jaskier found himself being held _very_ tightly.

Jaskier gave Eskel an adorable, beseeching look. Eskel could go run and grab a snack, maybe?

Eskel closed his eyes and wrapped himself closer in, until Jaskier felt completely and firmly trapped.

Well. Maybe an early breakfast, then.


End file.
